


triumvirate

by Siera_Writes



Category: Blur
Genre: Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Smut, circa 1997/8, lil bit of angst, sorta voyeurism i guess if that does it for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siera_Writes/pseuds/Siera_Writes
Summary: He's shaking, brain buzzing in the afterglow of their performance. He feels jittery and overwrought and totally fucking fantastic. He floats backstage, barely noticing his passage past bustling personnel, sweat sticking his tee to his back, his sides, and the occasional flash of cool air prompts shudders. Alex is already seated on a sofa in the corner, looking nonchalant and elegant with his fringe masking half his face, and a flute of champagne held laxly as he rests his forearm on the arm. He meets Graham's eyes instantly with the one that's visible, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. It's the same one he's had all night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Triumvirate - a board of three officials jointly responsible for some task."
> 
> Unless I'm completely oblivious - which I will admit, is actaully a fairly credible explanation - there isn't a single blur fic in the entirety of ao3 dedicated solely to a threesome without a love triangle. So I wrote it. Enjoy!
> 
> Not betaed.

He's shaking, brain buzzing in the afterglow of their performance. He feels jittery and overwrought and totally fucking fantastic. He floats backstage, barely noticing his passage past bustling personnel, sweat sticking his tee to his back, his sides, and the occasional flash of cool air prompts shudders. Alex is already seated on a sofa in the corner, looking nonchalant and elegant with his fringe masking half his face, and a flute of champagne held laxly as he rests his forearm on the arm. He meets Graham's eyes instantly with the one that's visible, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. It's the same one he's had all night; every time Graham looked across the stage - through colours swirling and strobing, kaleidoscopic, drug-like - Alex had tipped his had a little to the left, quirked up a brow, the butt of his cigarette a glowing ember in the sea of lights, and smiled. 

Graham shivers. It's almost involuntary, really. The sheen on his skin is staring to chill him, he's coming down a little from the high of a baying, adoring crowd, and Alex is looking at him like he's the prettiest girl in the room. He's not even the prettiest person in the room. He breaks Alex's gaze, mood dented slightly, and a little lurch in his chest. The wall is a welcome support against his back, except for a wooden strip which works its way round the room, bisecting the pale blue with a foot deep band of white. He sinks as far into it as he can. It cuts into the flesh beneath his scapulae prompting an edge of discomfort, grounding him. A streak of mud on the toe of his shoe catches his eye. He can still feel Alex's eyes burning into him, even as the other man's laugh rings out and his voice ebbs and flows through the clamour which seems to perpetually surround them these days. He hunches his shoulders, and grimaces as the edge of the beam behind him juts further into his spine.

As idle thoughts trail across the forefront of his mind, he thinks of their performance, of how if he wasn't looking out at the crowd, or across at Alex, then Damon was there: Damon was always there, always had been, really. Strutting across the stage, foisting himself at the ocean of arms reaching out for him, in almost messianic imagery. He has to smile at that, at the sheer idiocy of his best friend. Come to think of it, where is the bastard?

A riotous cackle announces Damon's presence, and just as Graham is rapt with the bristling attitude that radiates from him, so is Alex; he feels the loss of the heated attention almost physically - cold, cold again. Goosebumps. He needs to change out of this top. Or better yet, get a shower, and get a full set of fresh clothes.

Instead, he watches as Damon stalks through the room, people parting seemingly without conscious thought to make way for him. The man's soon got a glass of red on both hands, beelining for Graham. He pulls himself taller, wincing as his back protests the uncomfortable position he was in. A grin's back on his face in no time - Damon's here and smiling, there's wine, cool in his hand, earthy-rich to the tongue, and Alex can't seem to choose who to stare at. Damon's leaning in to whisper to him, too quiet to be audible with the aftereffects of the volume, breath hot against his skin, and Graham tilts his head slightly down and to the left to listen. He feels emboldened by the blond's sheer presence, shoots a quick look from under his brows over Damon's shoulder at Alex. He's staring, still. Still seated. He could've left with a partner. Could've left to get the first decent night's sleep in a while, like Dave has. But he hasn't. His heart lurches and nerves twist in his stomach. Something's going to happen, he can feel it. 

There's a hand hot on his waist, a chuckle, and then Damon's gone in a flash, bringing his heat and his surrogate cockiness with him. He almost feels bereft, lets out a single, shuddering sigh, and falls back into the wall. The wine's half-drunk, and he raises and swills it, watching the graduation of red on the sides of the glass as the liquid swirls. Damon's probably off to find food, or the next high, or a new partner: could be anything, really. Such is his capriciousness. Graham curses himself. Just cause they've done it once or twice, just cause they've fucked - and the violence of that word makes him snarl a bit into his glass, irritated at himself, mostly - doesn't mean they're supposed to be making a habit of it.

He necks the rest of his drink, then tips his head back against the wall to people-watch. For the most part, it seems like an average after-show gathering; drink, people not even bothering to hide the influence of more illicit compounds, and risqué behaviour. But he can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen. He feels tense, apprehensive-but-not-quite. He feels like running and jumping, or maybe punching and kicking. Fight or flight. And then Alex stands up, begins to wind his way past conversations and clusters of people lazily with a casual air, but most certainly towards him. It's the polar opposite of Damon's brash directness. 

He can't help the flutter of his pulse, and he swallows against the new dryness in his throat. He feels giddy, and a nervy smile breaks across his features.

Alex isn't much taller than him, but he seems to loom as he slouches a shoulder against the wall, as close to Graham as they can be without touching. Graham's poor posture doesn't help, and Alex's smile grows as Graham has to lift his head to look him directly in the eye. Here, the lighting is just right to etch shadows deep into his cheeks. He's fucking gorgeous, really. So much so, Graham wants to curse at him - lighthearted, yes, and with little heat. But certainly, it isn't fair. He and Damon. Fuck. He can't help flicking his gaze down to Alex's lips, the guiltily dragging his eyes away, and pushing off the wall to stand taller, shoulders squared and chin jutting up haughtily, prompting the taller man to grin even wider. 

It's a daft challenge, and Alex cheekily plays along, stepping closer, standing straighter, holding in a laugh until they both can't help it. Alex's eyes sparkle with mirth. There's the barest of spaces between them. Alex is warm and solid and there. He could - they could - kiss right now, and for the most part, nobody would question it. He can almost feel that their thought processes are synchronised: indeed, their eyes lock and there's a questioning edge there that Graham is sure is mirrored on his own face. Too long? How long have they been stood like this? Surely, if they were to kiss, and it look playful, meaningless, it would've been, done and gone already. Can they pass it off now? Can Graham hide it as being something less than he thinks-

"Boys," A hand clasps around his wrist, and Damon is there, his usually scintillating presence curiously tamped down, "Come with me." Subtlety is not his usual fare. This is serious. Graham glances down at his encircled wrist, notes - curiously unsurprised - that Alex's is too. He looks at the taller man, who nods back to him in answer to an unspoken question. Yes.

Damon shepherds them with little fanfare from the room. The others are too caught up in their own experience to notice the three of them hasten from the room. Damon is going for surreptitious, and both Graham and Alex opt for as casual as they can manage, mildly flustered as they are. Graham's still not sure what they've agreed to, though he's got a fair idea, and it makes his head swim, just a little. He hasn't had enough alcohol to really give him a buzz, but he hadn't eaten much for dinner, so he's pleasantly unconcerned, and very, very curious.

They navigate through a labyrinthine complex of identical breeze-block corridors lit dingily by cool, halogen strip-lights, until they reach a side-door, leading out onto a rain-slick street. None of them are really up to driving - Damon can't, and both Graham and Alex have drunk - so they trot briskly at Damon's heels, keen to escape the cold, following his unwavering lead until they reach a hotel, and are beckoned to follow him into the foyer. They're dragged towards a lift, and Graham feels compelled to look take in his surroundings. The lobby is all understated wealth, empty of patrons, and quiet. The light is a warm gold, fixtures frosted glass, softening the vibe. It contrasts sharply with their habitually dishevelled appearances. The lift doors wheel shut, and they're alone.

Not quite. There's a camera lodged in the top corner, and Graham keeps his face tipped downwards to the floor as he traces the toe of his shoes across striations in the marble tile. Both their eyes are on him. They're each leaning against a different wall, Alex and Damon hovering like vultures even as they remain still. There's little-hidden interest etched into both their postures, like hey hadn't ever considered each other in their quest for Graham this evening, until now. He's still their main focus though. The thought makes him take in a sudden sharp breath, a fun little thrill sparking down his spine. His glasses are almost a disguise for him to hide behind, filled with new confidence as he is, and he pulls himself tall just as the lift silently slows, doors opening with a swish. Damon stares straight at him, and Alex looks him up and down.

He smiles, cheekily as he can. "Well then, lead on."

The blond smirks, rising from his delinquent's slouch against the mirrored panelling, and swans out past them both. Alex lingers, waiting for him to go on ahead, and he does, but he knows - he knows, he can bloody well feel - Alex watching his every step as they follow in Damon's wake.

The two of them are ushered into a room, steps muted soft by the plush carpets, to the point it doesn't feel real, none of this feels real. The room is illuminated solely by the light from the corridor, everything else rendered in shades of charcoal as Damon heads further in to switch on a bedside lamp, his passage swallowing him into the gloom, until, with a sharp click, the space is bright, and Damon looks faintly angelic with his hair almost shockingly bright and his eyes clearer and bluer than he's ever seen.

There's a singular king-sized bed, a long wall-length pane of glass sequestered behind a gossamer voile curtain, a more substantial pair drawn back to either side. There's an en suite, door slightly ajar so the dark slate tiling can be seen. Everything is monochrome, metals silver, except a painting hung above the bed, aggressive, shocking blood-red and crimson clashing on a sterile white background in slashes and arcs. He can almost feel the artist's mood through the acrylics.

Alex huffs a disbelieving laugh and strolls further into the room's heart, whistling as he notes a bottle of champagne placed next to a hand-arranged vase of lilies. Damon bristles slightly, about to justify this ridiculous expense, but Alex, seemingly noticing the aura of irritation without actually having been looking, turns to him with a mischievous grin. "It's nice." 

And then some. Graham almost feels like giggling.

It's a little like they've reached an impasse; nobody's quite sure what the others' are thinking, though they're most likely along the same lines - snippets of limbs against skin, and the cool of the sheets. His breath hitches slightly, and that seems to spur the other two on.

"I need to get some stuff - wait for me?" Damon's voice is lower than usual, and he clears his throat at the end, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. He shoots a pleading look at Graham, before launching into a brisk jog from the room, punctuated with the final thud of the door closing. 

Now it's just him, and Alex. Alex who looks tall and rakish and wonderfully affected by the untold possibilities of the late hour. Graham snaps into action, marches over to the window and drags the curtains closed with little finesse.

Arms wind around his waist, and Alex chuckles as Graham laughs and tries to push the clutching hands away, to try to twist in the embrace and kiss him back - Alex's lips are leaving small brushing touches down his neck, at the corners of his jaw. But he's held fast. "C'mon, Damon asked us to wait-"

"Oh, he'll be back in no time, Gra." 

"What's he even doing-?" Before he's finished asking that question, he already knows. They're going to fuck, and it's kinda obvious they can't just do that. "Ignore that, actually."

Not that Alex seems all that focused on his words, more what he can do to make Graham squirm, exhale shakily. He's steered across the room, and spun round as they meet the edge of the bed. Alex stoops to kiss Graham - kiss him hard, square on the lips - and Graham reciprocates as fully as he can, pushing back and teasing with a flick of his tongue. They both pull back to tear off their tops, and the cool of the room on their rain and sweat-cooled skin leaves them with trails of goosebumps down their arms. They kick their shoes off as quickly as they can, breathing hard in expectancy. 

Graham throws his arms up around the other man's neck, stretching up to kiss him again, and he sighs in contentment as Alex's hands sweep up his back, holding him close. A hand settles in the small of his back, and he's swiftly guided down to lie flat on the sheets, Alex sprawled on top and licking hot stripes across his clavicles. He can feel the other man pressing against him, eager, and he feels totally and utterly covered. He wasn't sure what being with Alex would be like, but this seems about right: close and warm but undemanding. Different to Damon, but in no way worse. Graham bucks up against the bassist's lean body, then moans at the wave of sensation. "Fuck, yes." 

Alex scrabbles at his sides, and he belatedly realises he's trying to pull Graham's trousers down. He urgently pats the other man's flank, so as to be better able to undo the button and zipper, and then kick them off. It's graceless, but it works, and he pulls off his socks too. And then both of them are in the underwear, eyes blown wide and dark as pitch. "Do you think Damon'll be annoyed?" He says it almost breathlessly, waiting for the bassist to pounce.

"I hope so." There's a smug grin on his face, and he launches at Graham, kissing him on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. Graham kicks a leg up and around the backs of Alex's, pulling them even closer, and both let out stilted gasps. They kiss, deep, but languid, just waiting for Damon to be back, for him to see them. There are sparks beneath their skin, frissons at every touch. Graham leans forwards to bite into the juncture between neck and shoulder, and Alex pants hot breath against him, jerking a little in surprise.

Graham wonders a little at what they must look like from the door to the room - what Damon will see upon his return. Graham, writhing against Alex; them, a tangle of pale skin, lips bruised with kisses. He thinks Damon will be suitably riled, in a good way. He groans breathily as Alex leans slightly to the side, and moves a hand downwards, brushing over Graham's stomach lightly, smoothly, to his cock. Even through the material, the sensation is a little overwhelming; clever, capable fingers dancing lightly over his length. It's torturous, and he arches his back, trying to increase the pressure. Alex just chuckles, moving back to cover him wholly, and burying his face into Graham's neck.

There's a low clunk as the door falls closed, a hushed, almost reverent string of expletives: Damon's back. Even as Alex continues his assault on Graham's neck, keeps nibbling little marks and worrying them pink, Graham props himself on an elbow, head thrown back, glasses horribly askew, so through one eye he sees the singer, sees the want on his face, eyes blazing, a little white, plastic bag clutched in one hand, shirt collar wilted from the precipitation, a graduation of blue deep to pale from shoulders to tails.

Damon drops the bag lightly to the floor, a slight fricative rustle issuing, and undoes the buttons of his shirt at a steady rate, before shrugging free. His beaded necklace, ever present, remains. He bends to unlace his shoes, and Graham watches the muscles in his arms and upper back work as he does so. The jeans are next, then socks.

Alex is looking too, head propped on his hand, the other loosely draped across Graham's belly. Damon stands up fully, looks calculating, upper teeth pressed into his full, lower lip. A beat passes, and then he draws his boxers down his narrow hips with little fanfare, then stalks towards them. He's suddenly in front of Graham, and he lifts the frames from his face carefully with both hands, before stretching to place them on the bedside table. It's an intentional movement, highlighting his flexibility, and Graham just wants him more. He reaches out a hand, desperately pawing at Damon to urge him closer. He obliges, and Graham's surrounded.

Alex pulls him flush against his front; he can feel him, his chest, his legs, his cock pressed hard into the small of his back, the band of his boxers. And before him: Damon. Entirely bared to him. Their faces are near enough for Graham to see every fleck of colour in his irises. He reaches out to rest his right palm against the blond's sharp cheek, skims he pad of his thumb lightly along the skin beneath his eye, and in response, Damon's eyelids flicker shut, eyelashes a smudge against his light tan.

Damon cracks one eye open, lifts his left hand so he mirrors Graham, smiling quite honestly, soft and small. He leans in, leaving a single, chaste kiss on his forehead, before pressing their lips together, and kissing him deeply, tongue tracing the edges of his lips.

The bed shifts beneath them, rosy light dimming slightly as Alex moves to hover over them, fringe tickling their jaws as they continue kissing. Alex wetly kisses Graham's cheek, then draws his tongue along the curve of his jaw, past their lips, bridging the gap to Damon's, following the slightly sharper line there, to just below his ear, prompting a full-body shiver to roll down the blond's spine.

Alex laughs lowly, moving to push them apart, quickly kissing Graham in apology before looking down at Damon. Graham watches Alex drinking in the sight beneath him, assessing the situation, before dipping down and kissing Damon hard and long, lifting himself up again, and checking to see if the blond's comfortable. Damon's eyes are wide and dark, and with a low chuckle, he musses Alex's long fringe, a sweet gesture Graham wouldn't have expected.

Alex grins teasingly down at him. "What's in the bag, Damo?"

"Condoms, and lube." He quirks a brow good-naturedly, amused at Alex's reaction: eyes raised to the sky, smile wry, at the crude lack of preamble.

"I supposed I should get them, then." It isn't a question, and Alex draws himself with lupine grace from the bed to fetch the items. Damon rolls towards Graham, rising to kneel beside his supine form.

"C'mon, mate. Get your pants off." Graham laughs at his friend as he tries to remain straight-faced, sitting up with a little bit of effort. He wriggles free, and copies Damon's position, sitting back on his heels, resting his hands on the singer's shoulders. His thumb brushes an arc against Damon's collar-bone, and they lean together to kiss, gentle, thorough. Damon breaks away briefly, throwing a quick smirk over his shoulder. "Get your skinny arse over here, Alex."

"Whatever you say, pretty boy."

Graham smiles as Damon flusters, turns to shoot back a typically artful riposte. "Mate, you're the pretty boy here-!" He ends up flat on his back with Alex holding his wrists loosely crossed above his head. "Hey!"

"Graham, do you wanna fuck him, or shall I?" Alex is deliberately looking at Graham as he asks, paying Damon no heed at all.

Images are conjured in his mind - of sweat-slick skin, dark and blond hair, of brown and blue eyes both blown wide with lust - and he knows exactly what he wants. "You. You fuck him." Two of the most beautiful people he knows. He wants to see this. 

Alex reaches for the lube, and a condom, and leaves them so they're close to hand, then sets upon kissing his way down Damon's chest, until his head's level with the blond's pelvis. He sucks a bruise onto the prominent bone there, eliciting a small cry, before moving to take the head of Damon's cock in his mouth. The singer lets loose a choked sound, digging his heels into the bed in shock, hips jumping slightly. Graham just watches as Alex pins him down with his forearm, wiry tendons standing out, and takes him deeper.

Graham slinks closer, to have a better vantage point. He reaches down to touch himself, breaths stuttering at the sensation. He strokes himself lightly, watching the pair get progressively more turned on. Alex is brushing the fingers of his free hand across the sensitive skin of Damon's inner thigh, and Graham emulates it, drawing teasingly close to his entrance. His heart's beating double time, and he swears he can see Damon's own pulse in his neck.

The blond snakes his hand into Alex's hair, and clutches, pulling his head further down. Alex lets out an angry sound, shooting daggers at Damon from under his fringe, cheeks hollowed and looking almost dangerously sharp. He gets a slow, deliberate, shit-eating smile in return, but Damon releases his grip. Alex's eyes narrow. That won't be forgotten.

Alex pulls off slowly, mouth open, a string of saliva remaining until Alex moves further. Graham tightens his grip, moving his hand quicker. His breaths are coming faster in anticipation, cock hard. 

Alex reaches for the condom and rolls it on, not breaking eye contact with Damon, who's being oddly quiet. Graham can feel the tension, can't wait for it to break but doesn't want to miss a single thing. Alex strokes himself twice, hard, hissing slightly, then pours some of the cold liquid into his hand to warm it, before slicking himself up. He pours more out, slathering his fingers, before moving his hand towards Damon. "Have you done this before?" 

Damon's eyes flit towards Graham briefly, and he nods, before his voice croaks to life. "Yeah."

This is as much as Alex needs to know. He leans down to take Damon back into his lips, before pressing the pad of his forefinger to the edge of Damon's entrance. The singer shifts slightly in discomfort, but Alex adjusts for this, sucks harder, and begins moving his finger in, and out. Damon whines, a long, plaintive sound. "C'mon!" He reaches out for Graham, curls his fingers around Graham's hand, and cock, prompting a litany of curses to fall from between his lips. The angle's odd and the technique's ungainly, but it's hotter and tighter and slightly less predictable, and he revels in the waves of pleasure radiating through him.

Damon's starting to get ragged round the edges - perspiration's a fain sheen on his skin, lips kissed and bitten red as he holds back all manner of sounds, eyes wide, unseeing, almost like he's high, and his ribs are heaving under his skin. Alex keeps working him, until he's happy that he won't hurt him. At the loss of fingers, Damon mewls and his hand constricts around Graham's, making him release a shaky gasp.

And then Alex pushes in. The tendons in Damon's neck stand out, mouth wide in an inaudible sigh. He's given a moment before Alex kisses him, kisses him hard, all teeth and tongue: they're incendiary, gunpowder and sparks, and he begins moving. They're absolute opposites in appearance, and Graham loves it. In the throes of pleasure, Damon has coiled himself around the bassist, pulling them flush as they fuck, legs locked at the ankle, nails leaving crescent imprints either side of Alex's spine. Alex is stroking Damon in tandem, knuckles brushing over the singer's stomach.

Graham moves his hand faster and - determined, desperate - matches Alex's pace as well he can, as he presses at his entrance with the fingers of his other hand. He imagines himself there, in both their places - and more. Being above Damon, being below Alex, fucking and being fucked by them both. Alex nudges at the underside of Damon's jaw, scrapes his teeth along the line of his carotid. Graham can see the jump of his pulse, the stutter of his heart. He's almost there, like Damon, like Alex; they're on the verge of a precipice, about to leap.

Damon comes first, with a shuddering gasp, ejaculate sticky between his and Alex's belly. His eyes are staring and vacant, jaw slack, and his limbs are sprawled. It's an incredible sight, and Graham's cock twitches in sympathy. Close, he's close. Alex's rhythm is stuttering. Graham leans towards Alex, pulls him up and kisses him soundly, swallowing Alex's sound of ecstasy as he comes.

Graham keeps going. His vision's sparking and the sight before him spurs him on. One last pull, and he's gone. Graham sinks to his side, floating, trying to regulate his breathing and repress it to a more natural rhythm. He barely notices Alex drag himself wearily off the bed to dispose of the condom, grab a washcloth for them, but he's buoyed when Damon crawls closer, gathers him close, head on his shoulder and breaths softly huffed against his neck. Alex cleans them carefully, then dumps the material to the floor, finally rounding the bed and clambering to Graham's other side, coiling himself loosely around both with his long limbs. He's ensconced on both sides, warmed pleasantly by the heat of them both. 

Graham sleeps well.


End file.
